Pain, Poison, Passion
by VampireBat
Summary: With the loss of his love, Draco Malfoy retells his story of self mutilation, cured only by the innocence of another.
1. The Funeral

Hey all, VB here, putting up my first fanfic in over...well...a few years. ;

Read, tell me what you think. That little review button is good for you. It pays for my shrink. Believe me. It's good for you.

PS. Who can guess the characters? Teehee!

* * *

Lilies.

I remember. Those were your favorites, weren't they? Everyone sent them. That's what you always wanted.

Isn't it?

It was just as beautiful as you said it would be. Everyone was there. They all love you, as I love you. It is a true shame you missed it. I wish I could detail the whole affair to you. I long to tell you, to see your smile. I long to see you alive again.

We both know it should have been me in that casket. It should be my body, lowered into the cold, cold ground. It should be my mother weeping at my grave, broken from the loss of one so young. There should be a lost child asking for his father, pondering, uncomprehending of the horrors that lay beneath six feet of earth. There would be no heartbroken brothers gathered amongst the flowers, paralyzed at how quickly their only sister was taken from them. No father, trying desperately to hold himself and his family together. My funeral would be gloomy. Silent.

Yours is lovely, full of those who love you and miss you, as I do. This…this shouldn't be happening. You shouldn't be in there. You should be watching my father in disgust at how his compassion for his son is lost; at my mother, doing her best not to cry in front of others, but still just as emotional as any. You should be lying to your son, insisting that his father would be back soon.

I shouldn't have to tell him.

I remember your smile...your laugh…when you first really looked at me.

Let me remind you.

* * *

I could tell none of them had ever wanted me there. To them, I was the wolf amidst sheep. I was the symbol of their hope that was lost with the death of their messiah. I had not killed him, yet to the grieved I was responsible. They all…you all wanted me to disappear…You wanted me to fade away into nothingness; to become the shadow you thought I was. You longed to rid yourself of my inalterable taint.

How I came to be there is a mystery. Three days after the battle my mother sent me out. She told me that I was going somewhere safe, where my enemies could not find me. I agreed readily. My encounter was a less than pleasant one. The death of Dumbledore had shaken me. Not because he was dead…

Because I had not done it.

Mother told me of the vow she had made with Severus before I went back to school. At first I was infuriated. How dare she! Mothers did not baby sixteen year old boys. She doubted my ability. I seethed because she had been right. She had seen past the outer shell that my family had approved of, that my friends had envied. My mother saw my doubts, something that no one should ever see. Why could I not say the simple, seductive curse? My father's joy in the killing curse seemed orgasmic to the point of lunacy. Why did I not feel this pleasure? I could have been his most loyal servant, his most cherished follower, the leader of my generation just as my father was.

For years I told myself I wanted to be like him. I wanted to be cold, ruthless, and cunning, just as he was. I wanted to find pleasure in others' pain and suffering, just as he did. My shell pushed to become my entire being, my personality. It wanted power. Power that I could have easily.

It was what was expected of me.

I was expected to be cruel. I was expected to follow the path of shadows, to willingly turn my face from the light. I am a Black; I am a Malfoy. I am not a Potter, not a Bones, not a Weasley, and was never expected to be. I was not supposed to be kind to those who deserved it. I was supposed to be above society, above the meaningless masses. I would follow no rules of convention, no laws of puppets who only intend to blind us. This is what I believed.

This is what was crushed into my skull, sunk into my flesh, whipped into my body. From the moment I first declared my life, this was my milk. When I was old enough to bear it, it became my lecture. It was the cause for whippings; the cause for beatings. I never did anything wrong, most of the time. It was a punishment not for my actions, but for my thoughts. He told me I deserved this pain. I readily accepted this theory.

Pain and suffering lost their unpleasant bite. By the time I started my formal education in magic, already I had grown to take sadistic pleasure in pain. Pain would obliterate all that was weak and pitiful. It would remove my doubts.

Temporarily.

I began to grow dependent on the lustful kiss of the Cruciatus. I needed fire to make my skin smolder and crackle. I needed blades to drain that which was impure.

My medicine became a sweet poison.

I craved it as I've never done before. Each day I waited for it, to quell my doubts. I had many. Above all, I doubted my purpose. My father told me that my purpose was to eliminate those that did not deserve life. They were those who did not value their gifts enough to pass them on to their children. They jeopardized it, marrying and breeding their magic away. We hated them and their offspring. This I doubted. Why punish those born from these mistakes? I once asked this of my father, when I was four. My father set my body ablaze with my first Cruciatus. I did not voice my doubts again, though they lingered and festered like old wounds.

Sometimes, in the face of this confusion, I would grow rebellious. I snapped and snarled like a caged beast, but I never dared to retaliate. I was only punished more. I fought against my life, the plan for my future, the bane of my existence. Why was I the one to murder, to hate?

Those doubts made me feel like my punishment was deserved. To doubt was a weakness that had to be eradicated. I took pleasure in the harsh whip of flame across my back. I reveled in it. I needed it, craved it, longed for it to take away my inner pain. My doubts. My weakness.

When father went to Azkaban, my need could not be satisfied. It felt like an everlasting hunger, gnawing at my mind. I could feel the smooth skin-on my back, my arms, my chest-and raged. My mind never strayed far from it. I became desperate for anything to take that empty hunger away.

That is how you found me. Starved for the pain I had grown to depend on.

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Well, what'd you think? I'll update soon, if you review. Muahahaha! 


	2. Buckbeak's Sanctuary

I had been there for quite a few days. Dumbledore had kept his word to protect Mother and I, through Severus. It had already been prepared before the battle, something I never quite understood. Both knew I could never fulfill my mission. Dumbledore, in the last moments of his life, had told me so.

Mother was waiting for me after the battle. She cried as she handed me my things, giving me a quick explanation. I do not know where she went; I never found out. Severus then took me here. He left quickly. He had killed Dumbledore; they would not believe his double-act again.

Severus brought me here…to the house my mother had been raised in. I spent days lurking in the refurbished rooms, away from those who only held me with malcontent. The rooms sickened me. They were once dusty rooms filled with dead rodents and the most prized of our cursed family heirlooms. Not they held bright, new whitewashed walls, comfortable seating, and cozy lights. No wonder my great-aunt screamed so.

June was just beginning. The rooms started to push me away, having few further secrets to tell. I pawed at the old muggle clothes I was forced to wear with disdain. I was reduced to wandering around with flannel pajama bottoms and this awful black sweater-thing with a hood. Needless to say, I was not very happy.

I remember the day with a clarity unbeknownst to me. I've relived it frequently in my head. My mind wandered. I'd found nothing in the rooms, as usual, and was forced to find food to sustain myself. The hood on my sweater was glued to the top of my head, unwilling to fall and reveal my starved face. I admit, I had not shaved in quite some time, as the operators of the base had made sure to take away my wand. I probably looked like a monster…I'm sure that's what you all thought.

As I stepped down the stairs, the portrait sprang to life, as it always did when I happened to pass.

"FLESH OF MY BLOOD! SWEET CHILD OF BLACK!" she screamed, calling me to her. She pleaded with me to rid this house of the "swine, who bedeck our halls with filth and vile idiocy!" I was suddenly unable to take her incessant yowling.

"SHUT UP!" I found myself screaming over her. Her words quickly to turned to those of a traitor to the blood.

"OLD HAG!" The curtains around her were nigh-impossible to close, but of course, I was not about to let them beat me. With all of my remaining strength, and with much cursing, I finally managed to wrench them closed.

"Is that how you people treat your family?"

My heart nearly stopped.

I wasn't scared, just surprised. I turned. Standing in the doorway was a gaggle of people. The entire Weasley clan, or so it seemed, clamored around, staring at me. Also joining the crowd, I noticed with disdain, were Granger and Potter. The gang's all here. I stared right back at them, sullen.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen." continued the girl, Ginny? She stood with a nasty smirk on her face, luggage in hand. My blood grew warm-yet only lukewarm. I did not feel the usual rage from merely being spoken to by a Weasley. Every pair of eyes held hate for him, no matter how much Mrs. Weasley and the tri-wizard girl, Fleur Delacour, tried to hide it.

"What's he doing here?" Potter, ever-tactful, exclaimed darkly. He was glaring at me with, as it seemed to me, all of the rage of the rest of them, only combined. I didn't care.

"You guys never said anything about Malfoy being here." said his life-partner Ron. Honestly, the two must share half a brain. The overlarge matriarch muttered something to them.

"Why is he in Sirius' house?" The Boy-who-Lived growled. Sirius' home? The girl weasel's insult could slide, but not one from Potter.

"Sirius' house?" My voice was a sarcastic, sneering…croak. I hadn't realized how little I had spoken in my two weeks of confinement. That and, well, I'd just been howling at a picture for five minutes. My hand reached up to my throat as I readied myself. By now they were all watching me closely, waiting for the inevitable filth that would stream from my silver tongue.

"That filthy dog never deserved this house." I could see Potter growing unstable. His hands curled into angry fists. My heart went faster than it had since I arrived here.

That's it, Potter…Let yourself hate me. Let yourself slip away into that seducing pool of rage, that blissful sensation of having control over nothing. I taunted him, tearing at those still fresh wounds of his heart, demeaning the one he had loved as almost a father.

"This house should be mine." I felt my eyes grow cold, a small sneer gracing my lips. "This house belongs to the purest of society…to we, who denounce those tainted by the impure blood of those who are weak and powerless. This house needs an owner who is right."

Until then, I had not realized just how much I longed for a confrontation. Any confrontation. Verbal swords cutting into each other's flesh, blows landing on unprotected skin. I relished it I longed to scream, to yell, to overcome all of the frustrations that had built up over the long weeks.

His, Potter's, eyes betrayed his feelings. Stupid. He wears his bleeding heart all over his sleeve. His eyes burned, smoldering in their sockets. With a leap he lunged, both arms outstretched, as if to fasten themselves around my neck. My vision fluttered as I felt a shiver slide over my back. Finally, I would be-

And then Potter, eyes not leaving jerked to a stop.

I remember seeing her hands clamped around his right forearm. Her fingers, small and delicate, dug crevices for themselves, tightening her grip.

The girl. The one girl ever born to the filthy, muggle-loving Arthur and Molly Weasley. Didn't she play Quidditch?

"He's not even worth bruising your knuckle, Harry." Her voice was hard, steely. My eyes met hers. They were the most vivid, bright brown, I had ever seen. Normally they are like mud, but her eyes were as chocolate, and hair as red as fresh blood. Then, as I stared, I realized. She'd been watching me the entire time. Even as Potter had charged me, her eyes had not left me.

She saw.

I know she did. Her gaze held confusion, puzzlement, hidden by a desperate mask of anger. She saw my excitement, the pleasure I needed to feel, and it confused her. Her gaze left mine as she looked to her ex-boyfriend's rage-twisted face. He looked at her, softened, and muttered something. As I looked to the others, I forced myself to overcome my rage.

"Well, I think it's best we-," Mrs. Weasley started to break up the uncomfortable silence. I refused to linger any more. My feet led me up the stairs. My mind was far from the narrow passageway at that moment. My hand reached for the cold, twisted knob that would immediately lock me into the room they so graciously let me use, and hesitated. I studied it. It was pure silver, intricately laden with the darkest onyx and bone to form the magnificent crest of Black. It looked polished and clean. It disgusted me.

I drew away, repelled. If they knew the enemy was cleaning their oh-so-sacred doorknobs, my ancestors would roll in their graves.

Ridiculous.

"They've put me in a fucking loony bin." I turned. There was another set of stairs to my immediate right. Not wanting to be around for the heroes' unpacking. I ascended.

Up here, everything was dead. No laughter from that half-breed Nymphadora Tonks and her werewolf lover, no bangs from appearing wizards out on the street. Ah…silence. Blissful, as nothing else is. I slipped into a side room, unknowing of what it would eventually lead me to.

The air was absolutely foul. My hand wrenched the door shut behind me, the other clamping itself over my nose. There was the overbearing stench of droppings, rot, and of unwashed beast. Feathers had been hastily swept into the corner, along with hair. I was suddenly reminded of that stupid beast, the hippogriff, that had attacked me years before. I could almost feel the razor-sharp talons sinking into my arm. It made my body quiver, and my heart skip a beat. I felt warm; pleasurably so.

I slowly retracted my hand. Under the decay, there was a familiar scent…a sweet stench, not powerful enough to make itself immediately known to me. I stepped around, slowly taking in the dark room. Various pillows, all in extremely poor condition, were piled against the wall, as I assumed was some sort of bed. All round it were spatters of what I could not mistake for blood, most likely from its food. They were most likely full of fleas and disease, but by now those were the least of my worries. I sat, lazing against the cabinet that stood against the wall next to them.

Curious, I opened the door. Inside were various instruments, all used to clean the beast. There were devices to remove stones from horse hooves, combs for its hair, soft brushes for its feathers.

Then…I saw them.

Talon clippers with gigantic, extremely sharp scissor blades. I felt my hand shake as I reached for them. Beside them, other sharp devices, meant for keeping the beast clean and trim.

The blades were cold in my hands; deathly cold. I ran a finger along its edge…and drew blood. My lips curved into a small smile, the first in many weeks, and my hood felt its job was done and fell. My hair, slightly longer now, hung into my eyes, yet they did not obstruct this miraculous vision.

I had found my sanctuary.


	3. A Slice of Cake

Hey all! Here's the next installment of Pain, Poison, Passion. Thanks to all those hits, reviews, and alerts!

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This wonderful, completely horrid place became my favorite lounging area. Or, at least, to you all it did. That's only what it was to you. Little did you know, this room was far more than that. Come to think of it, I don't think you wanted to know.

To me, this room was my new home. It made me comfortable...pleased. Everywhere I looked I was tortured with the thoughts of punishment, retribution...memories of brutality, rebirth. It was covered with muck and disease, just as you all thought I was. Perhaps I was. I didn't care.

I fondly remember those first moments with the talon clippers, the beak knives, the razors for clean trimmings. The pain...ah, if only you could see it as I see it, my friend. The one thing I could control in a harsh, new environment. My eyes lit at the sight of the sun, shining off the dull metal. Only then was the sun welcomed. Otherwise, it was shunned, leaving the blades to me and me alone.

That very day, I was finally feeling myself again. I watched as the clippers slowly revolved in my hands, resting in my lap. Off came the ridiculous muggle sweater. I remember nearly tearing it to pieces in my struggle to rid myself of the impurities it left in my skin. My skin...my bare skin, so pale from the lack of sunlight. Just the way I liked it. I saw muscles, underused from the lack of the sport which helped to fuel my unhealthy appetite. They rippled down my torso, across my arms, leaving knotted and pulsing veins to press at my skin. I was going slightly insane at the moment; I could have sworn I saw the blood flowing through those veins, screaming, crying, yearning for me to free it.

I gripped the blades in my right hand, eyes growing wide to take in their full effect. Then, slowly, carefully, they caressed the bare flesh of my arm, a lover's greeting. The lover grew passionate as suddenly my hand jerked, unable to contain itself. My lips parted with a hiss...the blood ran down my arm, flowing serenely, as if merely taking another route. It gathered at my wrist, dripping down slowly from the tips of my fingers. I was unable to heal myself, so I was careful. You have no idea just how much I could do, leaving myself within inches of life. That day, I can remember, I nearly died.

That is how you found me. Wandless, defenseless, and not quite harmless either.

The pleasure I took in my treatment nearly overcame my senses. I reeled back against the pillows, my head narrowly missing the wall. I could no longer see what I was doing, but that didn't matter. I had the knives, and that was all I needed. I went slowly. I can only describe it as cutting into the most delicious piece of cake you could ever imagine to see. You want it so badly, yet in savoring the moment, you cut through it with all haste lost. You enjoy the texture, how it is so soft and easy to slice, taking your time to examine it. Is it chocolate, white?

My lungs contracted, lips parting again to release a small moan. I felt my abdomen swell, muscles contracting to contain my joy. That's what it was; joy. I had been deprived of it for so long, it felt so good. Instead of stopping which, when I think about it, would have been much safer, the slices in my skin only multiplied by the second as I grew frantic. I could only go faster. My fingers began to twitch, blood now drenching them. It looked quite gruesome; I can only imagine what it must have looked like to you.

After what must have been five minutes, though it seemed like five hours, the clippers fell from my hands. My fingers trembled too much to keep a good grip on them. I studied the damage through passion-filled, heavy-lidded lashes, my vision blurring. They were deep...deeper than I can ever remember doing. Shaking violently, shivering, I held the massacred arm to my stomach, cradling it. My body suddenly lost all of its power to hold me up...I fell backwards onto the pillows...my eyes closed. I can only remember thinking...

'Shit...shit...shit. I..c-can't...feel m-my arm...m-my sight...is going...am I...shit...am I g-going to die?

* * *

Naturally, I had to wake up, or else I wouldn't be telling you this story now. What, did you think I _would_ die? Ha. Draco Malfoy doesn't die that easily.

It was dark when I finally did wake up. Unfortunately, it was not by my own doing.

I must have been about to wake up, at least. Otherwise, I should have been unconscious, unaware of the footsteps resounding just feet away from the door to my sanctuary. Yet, amazingly, these soft taps indeed woke me. My head was spinning, and it hurt. Badly. I felt like I had too much alcohol in my system, like that time just a few months previous with firewhisky. My eyes, once I opened them, were hazy, and I could tell I must have looked like I was drunk. I slowly sat up, groaning from the rebellious pounding in my head. The footsteps stopped, hearing me. I froze at once. My eyes darted to my arm, not daring to move my head, and I took in just what damage I had done to myself. It looked like the hippogriff had been in its room, and I had called its mother a donkey. The smell was quite bad; congealing blood is not an enchanting perfume. My arm was stiff, and my skin was pulled tight from the dried blood drenched over it. I flexed; my arm would be fine, but it would still hurt for days. Good. I glanced at my side, where I had held my arm as I lost my control. There was crusted blood splashed over my ribs, my abdomen, trailing down to pool at the waistband of my pants, staining them as well.

The footsteps started again, and I knew they were getting closer, coming to investigate. I grew panicked. If anyone in this house knew of my secret, they'd try to help me, and I would never be alone. That could not happen. I pulled on the sweater in a hurry, thankful that I'd thrown it to the side where it could not be touched by blood. The footsteps stopped at the door. With a last great effort I pulled open the cabinet door, threw the stained clippers in, and closed it within 3 seconds. The person outside hesitated, curious...then I heard the doorknob turn.

There she was again. I think she must have been looking for me. It amused me somewhat to see her, of all people, find me here. The face of Ginny Weasley appeared from behind the door. She stopped, staring at me. What was it? My fevered eyes, my drawn face, my unkempt hair? I saw her eyes dart to my left hand, spattered with blood. Her eyes went back to mine quickly, and I saw something race across them. Fear, disgust? She was never faint of blood, I know that much.

"Mum told me to tell you that dinner's ready." she said quietly, her voice calm, yet tinged with poison. She paused, then, "What are you doing in here?"

"What's it to you?" I sneered as much as I could in my current state, which probably didn't do much. I slowly got to my feet, hiding any feeling of pain, though my head resisted every movement I made. A small smirk graced her lips as she replied, undeterred, "I thought you'd keep away from Buckbeak's room." Ah. She was of course remembering the tale of my attack. Probably exaggerated with details as lucrative as crying, fainting, or blubbering for my father.

I watched as her eyes flew once more to my hand. I too glanced at it, feeling the dull, throbbing of my arm under the protective sweater. "Take a photograph." I snarled, wrenching it back into its sleeve. I started walking, stopping only a foot away from her, where she stood in front of the only exit. She eyed me, suspicious, waiting for me to possibly attack her. Then, without another word, she abruptly went back down the stairs to her awaiting mother.

That Ginny Weasley is far too nosy for her own good, I thought. I strongly considered not going to dinner at all, yet my stomach protested. I hadn't eaten at all that day. I stepped out of the room, flinching at the lights that awaited me. It had been so dark in the room that I felt like the very light of the heavens had come to reprimand me. I went down the stairs, wincing as my feet thudded loudly against the carpeted wooden steps, cringing as my head pounded a tattoo of resistance. Using my good arm, I clutched my wound to my side once more. Light dazzled before my eyes; I flinched, pausing on the step. Yes, this one would be hurting for quite a while.

I could feel my skin, my tissue, my muscles working at double time. My body was desperately trying to undo the horrific damage I had inflicted upon myself. To my subconscious, this must have seemed an act of treason, of sabotage. I could only imagine what it would say, if it one day decided to step up and become my conscience. It would probably sound like my great-aunt. Oh well. At least half of my being had any sense, yet it certainly wasn't the part that was awake.

At last, my feet found the old mahogany floor of the front hall. I paused once more, checking around, and pulled my hood up quickly. It didn't take long to reach the kitchen.

A great waft of some delicious-smelling item greeted me. Of course, I would never admit, even under penalty of dismemberment by some very blunt tweezers, that it smelled good. Weasley's mother was busily stirring at a saucer on the stove, while the rest of the congregation was seated. They all stopped talking as soon as I came in. I could tell they had been discussing me, as the new arrivals didn't seem too happy. "Take a seat, please, erm...Draco." Mrs. Weasley turned, trying to force a small smile onto her face as she struggled with my name. I would, too-it must have been hard to look at me and not call me Malfoy, or anything at all, for that matter. Nevertheless, I did as I was bidden, sitting between Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks held his hand on my opposite side, looking happier than I'd seen her in months. Across from me was Granger, who didn't look thrilled at the opportunity. Ginny sat on her right; Weasley on her left, and Potter next to him.

The food was good; better than I'd had in quite some time. I ate in silence while the rest of them talked of trivial matters concerning the Order, or what happened to be in the _Prophet_ that day. Halfway through the meal, Arthur Weasley interrupted us all.

"Now, we've decided what we're going to do with Mr. Malfoy here." he began, glancing at me briefly. I saw the four in front of me take on rather sour looks as he continued. "Draco is dead. He was hit in the back with a ricoched killing curse as the Death Eaters made their escape last month. His body was taken by us, and his mother has been captured by the Order. Lucius," he added with a slight grimace, "is safe in Azkaban until further notice."

"Brilliant." muttered Potter, a small smirk of triumph on his face as he looked straight at me. "At least my tombstone hasn't been prepared for me already." I shot at him. "If I had my way, you would never even have a grave to put a tombstone next to." he growled, eyeing me dangerously. "Temper, Potter. It can get you into many _nasty_ predicaments." I allowed myself a smirk of my own. He remained quiet, although he fumed. Shame. It was always far too easy to goad him.

The banter between the rest of them continued for another half hour, until the last plates had been cleared. I slipped out of the kitchen and wandered upstairs. I didn't hear someone following me. In fact, I had no idea that Potter had been so angry with me until I felt his fist collide with the back of my skull.

A small yelp escaped me as I wheeled around to face him, feeling slightly dazed. His face was contorted with rage. It was an ugly, twisted sight. It was then that I realized that good guys weren't supposed to look good when they were angry-only righteous, which he certainly did not pull off. "Have to do better than that, Potter." I snarled, sending my right fist into his stomach before he could react. "Don't you worry about me!" He grabbed at my shirt and rammed me against the wall with a suprising force. It knocked the wind out of me. He began to beat the living daylights out of me. I am ashamed to admit it to you now, even when I wanted it. Yes, wanted. It felt good to get a good beating, yet it was for the wrong reasons, so I retaliated. I tried to fight back, yet my left arm was sending me into wave after wave of nauseous, agonizing pain. He sunk his knee into my gut; luckily, there was enough muscle there to soften most of the blow. I took my chance and aimed a solid right at his temple. It hit home, yet he still didn't release me. Potter was infuriated; he ripped and tore at my shirt in his effort to cause as much pain as possible. He didn't seem to know that it was exactly what I wanted.

"Harry!"

Apparently, she had heard our scuffle. Once again, Ginny pulled Harry off of me, which was quite an amazing feat at the time. His eyes burned holes in my flesh. I wiped a small trickle of blood from the corner of my mouth where he'd hit me. Then, I froze.

There, right in front of my eyes, were the oozing, stinging wounds on my left arm. Potter had ripped my sleeve nearly clean off. They both stopped, staring at it as well.

I looked at them.

They looked at me.

How could I explain this...

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Well, what'd you think? Please review and tell me! 


	4. Seven Taps

Hey all! Here's chapter 4. Thanks to all those out there who reviewed, you really keep me going! Thanks also to Moomoo, my lovely beta.

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How could I explain this? 

Thousands of wild, fantastic ideas flew through my mind. I thought of everything from killing myself to running away, from obliviating them to a mass murder. They swirled, clogging my head with nonsense as I struggled to lie, to convince them that my mutilation was something like an accident. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough with a response.

Potter bolted back to the kitchen. I ran as well, up the stairs as far as I could go. I ducked back into Buckbeak's room and barricaded myself in my late-Great Aunt's cupboard. My breath was labored; my heart was frantic. I was irrational to the point of near-insanity. My eyes took in every grain of wood as I strained to hear something, anything, that could be my 'saviors'. Thinking about it, it must have been from the shock. Or, it might be fever-induced paranoia. Either way, let's just say I wasn't quite in the right state of mind. Any second now, they'll come up and get me. They'll chain me to my bed, pushing food in through a cat-flap or something, I thought wildly. My imagination invented horrors beyond recognition, most of which were promptly forgotten with the arrival of a new one.

I heard footsteps. There seemed to be two or three people on the floor below, but I heard one set coming up the stairs. I sank down, crouching, as tense as an animal waiting for its prey. I was ready to spring in case they tried to drag me out. I heard the doorknob turn. The footsteps were now cautious, wary. They were unmistakably light. It could only be-

"Malfoy..." Before I could react the door to my cupboard had opened, and there she was, looking down at me. Her wand was raised, as if she still expected me to attack. I leapt to my feet-her wand flew to my throat as she stared me straight in the eye, her gaze unwavering. I pulled my chin up with as much defiance as I could muster.

"Forget what you saw, if you've got any brains inside that filthy muggle-loving head of yours." I muttered, uncaring of the wand.

"Harry's already told Mum." she said calmly. She didn't seem to even flinch at my ridicule. I could barely hear her next word, but I was sure she'd murmured, "Stupid."

I looked down at her. She wasn't much shorter than I was, but I had no weapons except my bare hands. I contemplated how to get her away long enough to escape. I needed time, so I decided to distract her.

"Does anyone else know I'm up here?"

She shook her head slightly. Good. I watched her. Something in the back of my mind said that something wasn't right. Her wand...of course. She wasn't old enough to use it. It was just an empty threat.

"Well?" I snapped. She jumped slightly from surprise.

"Aren't you off to tell dear Mummy where bad old Draco Malfoy's gone?" I sneered, feeling more confident. Two spots of pink appeared on her cheekbones from rage. I smirked.

"You can't even use that wand. What are you going to do, hm?" My voice was quiet, teasing. I swiftly pulled my right hand up, to push her away, but-

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Shocked, I lost control of my body. My legs snapped together, and my arms clapped to my sides as I toppled onto her, helpless to stop myself. A squeak issued from her lips, a small noise of surprise. Obviously, she expected me to go backwards. She froze for a moment.

I could not move, but I did not go numb. I remember the outrage that flashed across my eyes-who was she, this traitor of our most pure blood, to curse me? How could she be quicker than I? More likely, who gave her the right to even be able to do this to me? As my body hit hers, these feelings vanished.

She was soft, light, like a bundle of feathers. I felt the curves of her breasts as she took in a sharp breath, felt the strange goosebumps that rippled across her arms. In that small moment, I felt her heart beating rhythmically, quick as a metronome that was ticking far too fast. Her hair was splayed on the floor, flames licking the wood. I could feel her breath on the top of my head, warm and soothing..I could smell her perfume, an intoxicating light scent of flowers, only able to be detected at close quarters.

I was in those close quarters. No longer was I outraged, or angry. Maybe still humiliated, but that came with the curse. There was only the small, warm feeling in my lower abdomen-what was it?

As I felt her stir, someone else came running up the stairs.

"Ginny-?" Potter invited himself through the open door. I could not see him, though I tried.

"What are you doing to her?! IMPEDIMENTA!"

My body was hit by the spell; I flew back into the wall, my head knocking something hard. Blood ran down the side of my head, and I could tell it was staining my hair. My vision blurred; it went black. Before I lost consciousness, I could hear Ginny say, "Thanks for letting me borrow your wand, Ron."

With that, Ginevra Weasley and Harry Potter left me there, their enemy, lying motionless, only able to think of what would happen next.

That is how you found me. A caged beast, ready to lash out at all who came near.

* * *

Where was I...? 

The first sensation I had was of touch. I was lying on something soft...my bed. The pillow under my head did not satisfy me, as I remembered...something else was softer.

I opened my eyes slowly. Sunlight streamed through the windows, blinding me immediately. I squinted at the room around me.

The next sensation to hit me was the throbbing pain in my head. I reached up with my left hand and cautiously touched my wound. It was small, and the blood had been cleaned. I opened my eyes.

Only then had I noticed that neither my arm hurt, nor that I was wearing a shirt of any kind. I glanced at my forearm; there was nothing to even suggest I had been ripping my flesh apart the previous day. Cursing loudly, I groaned and threw the offending arm over my eyes.

I lay there for quite some time, pondering what they were going to do with me. I had not been chained to the bed; in fact, other than the door being locked so I couldn't leave, I was free to wander. But what about food..? I could stand being in here by myself, I just didn't know how long it would take me until I snapped.

Just as I was about to go and put a shirt on, the door opened abruptly. I slid my arm off my face and sat up. In came Ginny, a plate of food in her hand. She looked tired; her hair was held back by a few pins, but there were scraggly bits coming out of them to hang around her face. She looked like she had dressed in the dark, as her shirt was nearly hanging off her shoulder and her pants were still pajamas. She gave me an odd look-it was part annoyed, confused, and curious, but there was something else I couldn't interpret.

She deposited the plate on the table beside my bed, turned, and sat down in one of the elegant armchairs in the corner, never taking her eyes off me. She pulled her knees up and sat, watching me like a cat. I reached for the food and set it on my lap, looking back at her.

"..why are you still here?" I asked. Not very tactful, but it got the point across.

"To make sure you don't get stupid and decide to cut your arm off." she said bluntly, blinking slowly, to tell me that she did not want to be there as much as I wanted her to. I kept eating, diverting my attention from her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her put her chin on her knees, sighing slightly. She murmured something to herself. I looked at her. She seemed upset about something, but I didn't really care. I could have sworn I heard her mutter things like "hero" ,"has to save people" ,"doesn't care" and "my feelings". I grimaced. Of course. She's worrying about Potter.

I kept feeling her eyes on me. Goosebumps ran up my chest and across my arms. When I glanced up, her eyes were on my body. A small smirk graced my lips as she hurried to look back up at my face. What, like what you see? As if, little Weasel. You could only dream of these.

When I finished, she stood up and collected my plate. Before she turned to leave, I reached for the table.

I don't know what impulses I act on sometimes. Was it just the desire to cause pain, mentally or physically? Was it to reinstate my previous role of hated enemy? Was it to make her, the one who was forced to look after me, miserable? Or was it to quell the curiosity in her eyes, the same, strange curiosity that I too felt?

Maybe it was just revenge. Call it as you like.

I picked up a stray sickle, rubbing the cold silver metal between my fingertips. I felt something tug at the back of my mind-maybe it was doubt, remorse?-before it was killed effectively by my pride. I casually flicked the coin into the air, letting it fall onto the platter she held, miraculously not landing in the food.

"There's a little something for your trouble." I smirked, watching her. I knew it was absolutely foolish, seeing as I was not the one in control here, yet I had to go for it.

Something behind her eyes snapped. I saw her expression go from calm, to shocked, and then her face grew red, her ears a dark fuschia. Her eyes went slightly glassy as her lip curled. I had some feeling of what she'd do-good thing, too. I ducked as she hurled the platter straight at my face. My back was spattered with smears of egg and grease, my hair covered with bacon and fish bones, and the rest of the food settling on my pants.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed, her eyes red. She looked like some fiery demon, spawned from the pits of hell.

"We give you food-save your life-" she sputtered, outraged. I only looked up at her, cold. With a great cry she ran out, slamming the door behind her.

Well, I thought, picking bits of bacon out of my hair, it could have been worse.

I glanced at my reflection in the dusty mirror. "Not a very wise idea, sonny." it wheezed reproachfully. I silently agreed. But it was worth it-maybe now she would stay away.

I heaved myself up onto my feet and stepped into the adjoining bathroom. The bathtub was ancient; it was a porcelain behemoth on silver snakes for feet with a long, coiling snake to serve as a shower head, the water flowing from its mouth. Although I do love my ancestry, and the Slytherin house I will always belong to, all of these snakes were beginning to tire me. The floor was slate and stone cold, even in July. The sink was identical to the tub, only with a large, ornate silver mirror hung above it. I went over to it, and studied my face.

I wasn't too startled, although by all rights I should have been. I looked underfed; my cheekbones were more prominent than usual, and there were deep purple gouges under my eyes. The blonde bristles were long on my jawline and upper lip, and my hair was falling into my eyes. My flesh was almost as white as the porcelain that surrounded me. I stared into my own eyes, seeing into their cold, empty depths. I saw a shadow; a ghost of my former self.

Sneering with disdain I wheeled away from the mirror. I peeled off my pants, grimacing as my fingers slid over grease and syrup. Then I sat at the edge of the tub, looking around at the taps. As in all magical bathrooms, there were more than just hot and cold water. There were seven knobs around the snake's head, one stemming straight from its throat. I looked at this one, slightly wary. If I turned it, what horrors would come spewing out at me? Venom, for an intruder? All sorts of bugs and grime built up over the years?

Upon closer inspection, I could see that the knobs were inlaid with stones. Two were blue, one dark and one light, directly opposite on the end closest to me. Next up were purple on my left and white on my right. These puzzled me. Above these were green and black, and centered between them at the snake's throat was a brilliant crimson.

Cautiously, I pulled the dark blue knob. The snake's mouth opened slowly, creaking slightly from disuse. Steaming water gushed out and slammed against the bottom of the tub. Maybe they weren't so bad after all, I thought, relaxing slightly. I stepped in, turning the light blue one on instead. An icy jet hit my chest, sliding down my body in chilly waves. It felt good-just how I liked it-yet I was curious as to the contents of the other taps.

I eyed the five remaining knobs. The order they were in was strange. There seemed to be no pattern connecting them. I decided to go in the order as I described them to you. I pulled the purple.

For a split second, I thought it hadn't worked. Then, I felt a thick liquid smack the top of my head. It had the strange consistency of honey. I flinched, stepping back. It oozed down my neck, sending a chill up my spine-yet not unpleasantly so. It felt like a warm hand's caress. It was a rich, deep violet color. It clung to my skin, like a lover's embrace. The aroma coming off it was absolutely intoxicating. I could smell the coppery, irresistible scent of blood; the salty tang of the sea which called my mind back to home; the stale, earthy air of the graveyard. I could smell the thick air of the bedroom-sweat and fluids and silky sheets.

As it slowly dripped down my chest-a trail of soft kisses-there was something hidden under my desires. A scent of lavender, lily, rose. As I closed my eyes, trying to discern where this came from, I felt as if I was with a lover. She was holding me, stroking the back of my neck, leaving lingering kisses across my chest. As she neared my navel, I could almost feel her. I could almost tangle my fingers in that rich, crimson hair-

My eyes snapped open. I moved to turn off the tap, but I moved slowly, ever so slowly. This cursed liquid was restricting my movements, not wanting to let me go. I blasted the cold water onto my skin and these feeling vanished. I sank down to the edge of the tub, closing my eyes. My hand shook as I pushed my hair away from my forehead. Those scents-blood, ocean, grave- had awoken in me a passion I thought I could not feel. I never felt it with Pansy, no matter how many times I'd had sex with it.

But then there were those flowers...I could feel her...

It was just liquid.

But I felt her, she was there-!

Nonsense. My father's voice rang, loudly and clearly, in my mind, like a terrible bell.

It was taking those memories of yesterday and using them against you. It's a potion, for Merlin's sake, Draco. It is meant to seduce you, by any means necessary. Do not let it go to your head.

You're right, as always, father.

I retreated back to the outside world, staring at the four remaining taps. I didn't feel scared-of course not-yet I had some apprehension as to what these might do to me. I thought of my father's warning, my own warning, and felt suddenly rebellious. I leaned forward and pulled the tap opposite the violet, the white.

As I settled back, a silvery white mist flowed from the snake's mouth. It moved quickly to me, swirling around my body. It smelled of fresh peppermint, and it was extremely calming. I let myself relax, resting my head against the edge. I could feel it entering me through my nose, purifying everything it touched. It seemed to be cleaning my soul, if you even think I have one. I felt all remorse, all doubt, all worry leave my mind. What I noticed most is that it made bad thoughts go away. I tried thinking of pain, of death, of anything-but I couldn't.

I remembered the dementors of Azkaban-briefly, for they didn't stay in my head-and thought this might be what helped my family members after they came back. There were many in the service of the Dark Lord, and many have come and gone in Azkaban. Perhaps this is what brought them back to sanity. If so, I applaud whoever thought of it.

Now thoroughly relaxed, I pulled the green tap. At once green liquid poured from the snake's mouth, languid and flowing serenely. I leant forward to put my hand in it. It felt like silk. Here was the luxury of the Blacks-being able to bathe in silk. We had something similar to this back home, but not nearly as nice as this was. It filled the tub, not quite touching the edges as I was covered with the rich material. It felt nice, but after the mist I was wanting more. These taps seemed so enjoyable, I couldn't wait to pull the black.

Before I knew what was happening, I saw fire at the snake's mouth. Not any fire. Black, magical fire hissed from the head, spewing into the tub. I leapt out. What was this, some sort of joke? Fire in a bathtub?

I cautiously put my hand near the flames. They were hot, yet they didn't burn. I decided to risk all and plunged my hands into their depths. The flames lapped at them, warming intensely yet not scorching. I slowly stepped back in, beginning to enjoy its warmth. This was perhaps for after the bath, to dry yourself. I wasn't ready to dry off yet, so I turned it off.

Here was the last tap. The red one. What could be so bad about this one? I stood up, standing underneath the snake's mouth, and twisted the knob in its throat.

This liquid was not as heavy as the purple, yet it was not water. It wasn't silk, and it wasn't vapor. I closed my eyes as it ran down my face, wiping them to see this new one.

Blood.

I was covered in blood.

Head to toe, blood.

I swore loudly, toppling out of the tub in my shock. Yes, okay, Draco Malfoy fell out of a tub. You would too.

I knew my family was morbid to the extreme, but bathing in blood? Furthermore, whose blood was this? You can't just conjure blood-it has to come from somewhere.

While I watched the blood seep from the serpent's jaws, I saw that something wasn't right. Well, smelled it, actually. Where was that coppery, metal smell? I rubbed my fingers together, trying to tell if its consistency was as blood's. Suds appeared at my fingertips.

Of course...it was soap.

That is how you found me. So paranoid of the most normal things, so unwilling to see beyond what my eyes tell me.

I laughed, sitting there on the floor, head to toe in blood-colored soap.

* * *

Hee-hee! Draco's so silly. It took me ages to think of what came out of those taps. Did anyone else think of the pink goo from Ghostbusters with the purple? Review! 


	5. Presents

Hey all, VB back once again with a new chapter of Draco's dark and moody sarcasm. Dontcha just love him? This chapter has really been influenced by a little finding I had about Draco

* * *

There was a week-long lull from my incident in the bathroom. As I had feared, Ginny did not stop coming in to check on me. She did learn, however, to make her visits short. Two days after she threw the plate at me, she tossed pepper into my face-not a very pleasant sensation, I might say-and three days after that she hurled a mug at my head. 

It was the 31st of July; I only remember because of the big uproar about Potter's coming-of-age. Since I last spoke to you, I'd grown nearly a full moustache and beard. I desperately needed my wand. They had no right to try and turn me into a young Dumbledore.

I was asleep. My dream was strange, and I constantly wonder about it today. It had something to do with fire and ice, absolute nonsense, and there was one moment where the two hit, creating an explosion of white light-

"Sacco!"

I sat up with a jerk, flinging my arm from my face. She was standing there in the doorway, a roll of parchment in her hand. Her body slumped against the doorframe casually, a small frown on her face.

"What?" I asked, glaring at her.

"So it is you." She thrust the parchment at me. I let out an annoyed sigh and tossed the covers off my legs, clad in those awful muggle pants again, standing up with a stretch.

"It's a letter. We didn't know who it was for, but Mum put you with it." It had been a mixed night. I hadn't gotten to sleep until maybe 2 o'clock. My head was full of...things. I have always had trouble sleeping, unfortunately. It's the curse that comes with the 5th of June-my birthday. Mother was always advising me on what to do based on astrology, and she constantly told me the reason was simply because I was a Gemini. Wonderful explanation, Mother. Nevertheless I believed it.

I snatched the parchment from her hands, and saw that the wax seal on it had been broken. I glanced up at her, my face still trained on the back.

"So they've already read it." It was no question. She nodded stiffly, watching me carefully. That put me off. What was the use of a letter, especially since I hadn't seen anyone close to me in over a month, if these people have already picked through it?

"Yes, but they couldn't get anything out of it." I smirked. The only one who would send me a coded letter was my mother. Hers were always excellent. I began to read it.

_Dear Sacco,_

_ How are you? Things are wonderful here in America. I've seen so much here! Mumsy worries about you every day. How are your cousins? I hope you're all getting along. Do try to be nice, Sacco, they're watching over you._

_I'm here with your uncle Hodgekins. He wishes you well, and is sorry to tell you that he hasn't heard any news on that new broom you've been wanting. He thinks that they might go on sale sometime next month in London. Do your cousins know anything about it? He said the price was around 61 galleons._

_I'll try to write as soon as I can. Be good!_

_Love,_

_Margaret_

I had to read it another time before I fully understood just what my mother was trying to tell me. I sighed loudly and ran my hand through my hair. It was a lot to take in.

"Well?" She was staring at me. My expression turned sour.

"Just what makes you think I'll tell you, Weasley? This is my letter." I snapped. Maybe I was upset at the abysmally short letter, and how little my own mother asked of my health while she gave our half-enemies information.

"She asked you to tell your cousins. I'm not stupid, you know." She returned my glare. So, she could see it. Of course-we were cousins, in a way. All of the purebloods are related.

"Could have fooled me." I muttered scathingly. Nevertheless, I did as mother told. I turned around so she could see the letter as well, grimacing with distaste at how she leaned in to see. Who does she think she is?

"Sacco is me." Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Obviously, ferret-boy." she spat. I glared at her, and my glare was mirrored in her eyes. Although it wasn't as good as mine, I can confidently say.

"She's in Italy. America's her code word-she hates the place-and calling me Sacco adds to it." I said, pointing to the sentences as I interpreted them. I felt smug, and it was clear on my face.

"Then you turn it backwards-she's clueless, and worried, not having a wonderful time. She wants to know about the movement. Here," I pointed out the next line, "she's telling me how you're spying on me. I already know." If she was surprised, she didn't say it.

"Hodgekins is Severus." Here her ears went red as I saw her eyebrows snap together in a frown.

"Which side is he on?" she asked quietly. I paused. I could not tell her the truth, she who matters little and could put him in danger.

"I'm not sure." I knew she could tell I was lying, but she remained quiet. I didn't care much either way.

"There's going to be an attack."

Finally, a response.

Ginny gasped. Her face turned to mine quickly, a look of surprise etched into her features.

"How-?" she began, but I knew her question already.

"Broom is attack. Price is date. London is Hogsmeade." I said, jabbing my finger at each in question. "It's an attack at Hogsmeade on the 16th of August." I added softly, slowly, so she could get the gist. Her brown eyes were wide, almost innocent-like in her shock, as she stared at the letter. She paused. I could tell she was trying to comprehend the severity of such an attack, and her lips formed words I could not tell. I let out a breath of annoyance while she stood there. She jumped, as if forgetting I was there.

"Come on. You have to tell Mum and Dad." Before she took a step I grabbed her forearm.

"Get rid of this first." I indicated my woolly facial features. She looked impatient.

"There's no time, I'll do it when-"

"Now, Weasley."

Seriously affronted, she stared me down.

"If you think-" I cut her off, the second time that night.

"Yes, Weasley, I do think I can order you around." I said quietly, dangerously. My eyes flashed as I stared right back at her, unflinching. "And yes, I do care more about my personal appearance than betraying the Dark Lord to your traitor parents." It felt good to be cold. Oh, so very good.

"So, if you want me to talk..." I said carelessly, "do it."

Reluctantly, angrily, wishing she could just make me disappear, she obliged. She had been carrying her brother's wand since last week. I felt my smooth face, satisfied, and gestured for her to lead the way with a smirk. Hate seething from her pores, she turned and started walking stiffly down the stairs. I stuck my hands into my pockets and followed her, still smirking, taking pleasure in her anger. I rather enjoyed the stroll, awkward as it was. I hadn't been out of the room in a week or so. Why she didn't just call her parents up to see me, I'll never understand, but I wasn't about to correct her.

The kitchen was abuzz with breakfast. The Weasley children and company were all tucking in to bacon and eggs as the plates kept refilling from Mrs. Weasley's constant vigilance. Ugh, I can't believe I just said that-constant vigilance. Just thinking about it makes me want to scurry around on all fours and climb into Goyle's trousers.

Not.

Ginny rushed over to her father, sitting at the head of the table and reading the _Prophet_. At the sudden activity he looked up, energetic yet curious.

"Draco's just read the letter. It's an attack."

Several reactions happened at once. Her father nearly shot tea through his nose; her mother shrieked; Nymphadora and Lupin were both dumbstruck, Nymphadora's cereal falling back into its bowl as her hand froze mid-air. I, however, had the same reaction as the others of my age.

"_Draco?_" I found myself joining them in saying. Ginny shot us all a dirty glare, yet I could see a small patch of pink under her freckles.

"Does that matter?" she demanded, exasperated. We remained quiet, all thinking the same thing-_Yes._ Mr. Weasley spoke up quickly.

"It's...are you quite sure, dear? That it's..erm..." His eyes darted from myself to Ginny in a carefully controlled panic. Her confusion was evident; also was my annoyance.

"Why would I be dragged down here to inform you of a trap?" I asked coldly. "You've got my own mother secluded-oh, and now I know where, by the way-with one of yours. Any wrong move and you'd probably just shove her into Scrimgeour's awaiting jaws." He looked rather flustered. Good.

Of course, if she were on the opposite side, revealing a trap to the dark lord, she'd be killed. Azkaban...or dying. The two weigh heavily upon the mind. One most certainly leads to it, or the wish of it-the other has no part in the matter. Which would I choose..? If it were a choice between death in Azkaban or death at my own hands, I'd rather choose suicide. Sure, maybe those Catholic pricks would never let me into Heaven. At least I'd still be _me_ in Hell.

He sighed. "You...you're right, Draco." Damn right I was. Ginny glanced at me reproachfully. I could tell she would do something nasty to me later-and she did, putting a large rat under my pillow, not extremely pleasant-and was clearly telling me to get on with it.

For the next twenty minutes or so I explained the letter in great detail, sitting down and looking thoroughly displeased. They hung on my every word, even though Potter and Weasley were looking just as angry as I was. I kept Severus out of my elaboration; they'd kill him.

Mr. Weasley rubbed his scalp. "Thank you, Draco. This is invaluable news..." he said, his heart heavy in his voice. That's right; it was. Severus' news was never false, especially now that he "proved" his loyalty to the Dark Lord. I nodded stiffly, turning to go back. I caught Potter's eye. From his look, I knew that instant I'd ruined his birthday.

Perfect.

I stepped out of the kitchen and passed my great-aunt's portrait carefully, unwilling to wake her up. I mused. The house would surely be in uproar for the rest of the day-if not right up until the very attack. As I climbed the old stairs, an idea suddenly struck me.

Wouldn't it be nice to get away for a little while?

A smile slid onto my face, the smile of a woman with thousands of galleons in a jewelry store; the smile of a minister who has just seen his God; the smile of the junkie who suddenly has all the drugs he could ever want. I suppose you could easily identify me as neither of the former-I do have thousands of galleons, yet they would never seem to fill my expectation. There was always something to be bought, used, and discarded; I have never seen God, nor am I that willing to. I'm sure He would have much to say to me, if He would even disdain to acknowledge me. My family was never religious. They worshiped the arcane art of magic, sacrificed their souls to the golden calf in return for power and money. Greed.

Greed, one of the seven deadly sins. The hunger for everything and anything you could possibly have. It is the downfall of all species, from the kings of England to the leader of a wolf pack. In my eyes it is the deadliest, yet my father would never agree with me. He instead turned against Envy, Sloth, and Gluttony the three things he considered to be the bane of our existence. What he never realized is that there are still four more, and he had every one of them. His Lust caused him to stray from his loving wife and diddle every female in the mansion, from the cook to the girl that takes care of the horses. His Greed sold his soul to the devil in exchange for influence and money. His Wrath killed thousands and forever tainted my mind. His Pride led him to do that which others would call abominations. Most list Pride as the number one cause of evil. But is Greed not so far from Pride? Greed has lead to each of the 10 Commandments. Thou shalt not steal, you have enough shit already. Thou shalt not fuck thy neighbor's wife, get your own. Ah, enough with theology. I'm no major.

Instead of stopping at the first floor, I tiptoed to the second. My great-aunt's former room was still unlocked. A lucky break. I knew it was foolish of me to return here, but I told myself I would not stay.

I gravitated towards the cabinet and opened it. The instruments inside glittered dully. Hello, precious. Come to papa.

One by one I stuck the blades onto the hem of my pants, hiding their handles with the baggy sweater I put on before heading downstairs. The smaller ones went into my socks, pulled as high up as they can go.

Satisfied with my number, leaving behind many to mask my theft, I wandered back up into my room. I closed the door behind me, still smiling at my cleverness, and went to sit on my bed.

Only, there was someone already on it.

This girl must have a sixth sense aimed right at my forehead or something, I thought. My smile immediately turned into a scowl.

"What do you think you're doing, Weasley?" I could feel the blades beginning to slice the tender skin of my ankles and poke holes in my legs.

"Where did you go?" she demanded. Her eyes were filled with suspicion and distrust.

"What, walking around is forbidden around here?" I glared at her. The lies slid easily from my lips. "I haven't left this room in a week. I needed to get out." She still didn't seem to believe me, but she didn't ask my any more. Instead she rummaged around on the other side of the bed, pulling out a brightly wrapped gift. I raised an eyebrow when she resurfaced.

"Only place he'd never look." she murmured. Precious Potter's birthday present. And it was under my bed. How charming. Spare me.

"I do hope you'll tell him where it's been. Maybe then he won't open it." Her ears turned a delicate pink color and she seemed hell-bent on getting out of there, but I couldn't let her get past me that easily, now could I? As she stormed to the door, I blocked it with a smirk.

"'His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad'...personally, I thought that was better than a gift." I sneered for the first time in a few days, and it felt good. I needed to get out some of that energy.

"Stuff it, ferret-boy." she snarled, and attempted to brush past me. I felt a surge of panic-what if she felt the knives?-and grabbed her by the arms.

"Why don't you write me one of those?" My smirk was wide. It was good, tormenting her like this.

"Piss-off!" Her voice was nearly a shout. Her eyes were angry and her face was red. She tried to struggle her way through the doorway, still holding her present.

"Come on, Weasley, tell me a poem."

"Fuck off."

"You know you want to."

"_Fuck off._"

"Come on, I won't let you go until you do-"

"_If you don't move away from that door-!"_

"You'll do what, cry on me?" Tears of rage had indeed started forming in her eyes. She sighed.

"Fine." And she began to recite:

_His hair is as white as the frost on his heart,_

_His eyes are as grey as a storm._

_I'd __**never **__wish he were mine,_

_So far from divine,_

_The boy who succumbed to the Dark Lord._

At first I was dumbstruck. She'd thought of all that in a fraction of a second-it seemed so unreal to me. I could never do that, but she'd never know it. Then I felt rather stupid, just staring at her while she glared. So I had to come up with something.

"You know, Weasley, I thought only those who followed him called him the Dark Lord." Nevertheless, I let her go. Without a word she stalked away, leaving me locked inside my bedroom.

Slowly the words seeped into my brain. I have never forgotten that poem she wrote all in her head. Never. I couldn't even bring myself to do anything with those blades I'd painstakingly stolen. Instead I put them in the bathroom in the cupboard under the sink, then flopped onto my bed.

Normally I'd have raged at her. The poem was clearly derogatory, but I couldn't help liking the first two lines. They seemed to catch the essence of what those items really looked like, my hair and my eyes. I've known there was frost creeping into my heart; the knowledge was there from a young age. My mother always asked me if I was all right whenever I was pensive-she said my eyes weren't at rest, like a storm. "I'd never wish he were mine"-that I wouldn't lose sleep on.

'So far from divine...the boy who succumbed to the Dark Lord.'

They kept replaying over in my head. That's how she saw me, is it? So far from divine...I've never been in the choir of angels, but to be so far into the depths of Hell that she could tell? The boy...that made me a little enraged. I was no boy, especially not to her. Of course..she was only a year younger than I, but that made all the difference in the world to me. Succumbed. I had done that, plain and simple. I don't regret it. It was the choice between killing Dumbledore, something which I knew in my heart I could never do, or dying along with my family. My mother could not be harmed. Father-go ahead and kill the bastard. No skin off my back. Hah, get it?

So there I lay for the next few hours, not spending it as I had originally wanted to, but thinking.

* * *

Later I awoke to the soft music and chatter creeping in under the closed door. My eyes were heavy and gritty. With a small groan I turned over onto my stomach, rubbing my eyes. The light was only beginning to leave the sky outside. I decided to mull things over in the hot water-or maybe steam. 

My mind kept replaying that poem over and over again, like some Satanic record bent on driving me to insanity. As I stripped I couldn't help but imagine what she could say about the rest of my body. I pushed the thought aside.

The vapor came quickly, gushing from the serpent's mouth. I sank against the edge of the tub, the back of my head resting on the lip. I had left the bathroom door open-why not, they were all at the party-so I had a full, upside-down view of my bedroom. The sheets were a tangled mess from uneasy rest. I couldn't tell you the last time I'd slept through the night. It was always the worst during the summer, my body drenched with sweat as I fought off another nonsensical nightmare. Again-the problem with a Gemini.

When I think about it, astrology seems so right. It is infallible. It predicts your quirks, your personality, your very being. Gemini suits me perfectly, don't you agree? Just think about it. Gemini are the Twins of the zodiac. Two faces. Yin and Yang. Of course, you can't believe I have any good in me-whichever one is the good one; I could never keep them straight-but perhaps it's there, buried beneath the painful and icy depths I call my soul. As I mused, I turned on the crimson tap, letting the soap rush over me.

But Twins are equal, you say. One holds no more power than the other, you cry. What if you starve a child, but feed its brother only the prime cuts? The child neglected is the child lost. I had starved this child in me. For this I can only blame my father very littler. True, he was the one to feed my darker side, to spoil it, while beating the good, but I too had the power to give the good in me life. And yet I shied away from him. Father knows best.

Oh, Father...what are you doing now? Are you calm, living in control until your master lets you out to piss? Or are your demons finally catching up to you? Father, have you been starved? Father, do you know what I have felt, forever doomed to relive your terrible moments? For that was my punishment, Father, so obligingly given from you.

Father, do you know it now?

I lay back against the cold tub, by eyes unseeing, clouded by the troubles of my mind. The soap had risen to my navel, a bloody bath, yet I did not feel any urgency to clean. I pulled my arms up and out of the thick liquid to rest at the sides of my head. I listened to the soft, almost unnoticeable drips as they fell from my fingers.

Damn...I need some liquor.

Back home, I could have anything I wanted from my mother's wine cellar. Yes, Mother's wine cellar. Was it not she who had to run the mansion and its galas? Both I and my father were also fond of it, but she worked at it like there was no tomorrow. At Hogwarts, Blaise Zabini always used to sneak some Firewhisky in. Mind you, I'm no alcoholic. Sometimes it's just pleasant to have a little buzz in your head, blocking all unwanted thoughts from your mind. Maybe I'll look in the bedroom again, I thought as my eyes closed.

As I pondered the likelihood of any liquor still existing after 'The Purge', as I liked to call it, I thought I heard footsteps. There was pounding coming from the dining room-someone banging on the table and shouting, too. I opened my eyes, glancing at the door just a split second before it burst open.

"Oy, git, I've got your-" Ginny threw the door open, balancing a tray on one hand and managing the doorknob with the other.

She dropped it with a loud crash and screamed.

I flailed in the tub, trying to cover myself and roll over at the same time. I managed to bang my chin on the edge and barely poke my head up over it, sloshing soap over the sides.

"Stop!" I bellowed at her, raising my arms to signify that I was unarmed, palms spread and dripping blood-like soap.

She rushed into the bathroom, wand drawn and pointed right at me.

"You've done it now, Malfoy, there's no coming back losing all that blood-"

"Get out!" I screamed, thankful that the soap was past my navel.

"You've killed yourself!" She was hysterical. Her face was white under her freckles and her hands were shaking violently. Her eyes, puffy from crying, were wide and scared.

"No I haven't, see-!" I pulled her left arm over to my heart, beating very fast.

"Blood everywhere-" She recoiled, the soap on her palm.

"It's SOAP, you stupid cow!" I rubbed my hands together, watching her as they foamed. Ginny paused, staring. She sank to her knees, head just barely over the tub.

"Blood soap..." Her voice was faint, yet she stopped shaking and her color was returning. Then she laughed; it the same reaction I'd had.

Her laugh was unlike anything I'd ever heard. My father's was cold and ringing, my mother's a small tinkling noise like the breaking of antique china, when she did laugh. It was considered 'unladylike' to raise the volume of laughter above a contemptuous giggle, if you had to laugh at all. The other Slytherins' were cruel sounding, yet juvenile, like they were only pretending to be cold. She held nothing back; it was pure mirth. Fascinated, I listened.

Then the situation came to me. Here I was, naked in a tub, covered in what looks like blood, with a laughing Ginny Weasley clutching her stomach with mirth.

That is how you found me. You first really found me. The me that was hidden and locked away.

I could only laugh with her.

* * *

So, my little find? Draco's being a Gemini. I looked his birthday up, June 5, and saw he was a Gemini. I swear I was nearly knocked over by this one. It seemed to fit so well! I bet she picked the birthdays to coincide with the zodiac, this was so right. I also looked up Ginny's and Harry's, and found something rather good for the storyline in it. REVIEW! 


	6. Understanding

Hey all, Padme here. Thanks for all the lovely reviews, I really do appreciate them. Well, without further to do, here's chapter 6.

X

The next morning I was allowed out of my room for the first time since I'd received my mother's letter. I suspected Ginny had something to do with it, but I didn't question her. She seemed a bit happier than she was earlier. Maybe I did cheer her up, in some twisted way. Hey Ginny, come here and see me all covered in blood, maybe it'll make you feel better. That's a laugh.

The incident had gone unnoticed by the rest of the household. We had both stopped laughing abruptly, looking at each other with an odd mixture of embarrassment and surprise. Then she turned red and ran off, leaving me in the tub.

Neither of us could forget it, either. She accidentally touched my hands while taking away my plate and blushed furiously, scampering away as fast as she could. Honestly. It wasn't as if she'd seen anything she hadn't seen before, but then again I didn't really know. I didn't really want to think about how far she'd gotten with Potter.

A knock came on the door while I was still in the process of getting myself out of bed. I hurriedly pulled a shirt on to mask my self-mutilation. Fred Weasley poked his head in, a rather disgruntled look on his face. How could I tell it was him? The large F on his sweater gave it away in an instant.

"Oy, you. Mum says you're to come down to breakfast since you haven't been slicing yourself to bits lately." he said sourly, retreating as quickly as he could. My lips twitched into a small smirk. I'd still done it, just last night, only I'd taken to turning on the shower and locking the bathroom door while I was at it.

The house was abuzz with chatter. I stepped down the stairs, hands in my pockets, listening to the incoherent rabble that got louder with each movement forward. At the table were the entire Weasley clan, as usual, their adopted children Harry and Hermione, Lupin and Tonks and, surprisingly, Mad-Eye Moody. I admit I rather lost a bit of face when I saw him, even if it wasn't him that turned me into a ferret. The memory was not pleasant. The only empty seat was at the far end of the table, next to Mr. Weasley at the head and Ginny. Fate seemed to constantly make her embarrassed, it seemed. I took the seat nevertheless.

She looked up at me over her cornflakes and quickly looked back down, though now she did not blush. I held back a smirk as I reached for some toast. Usually she brought me up things that were left over from the family's meal, which meant I got the rubbery eggs and somewhat burnt toast. Not today.

"Oh dear.." Mr. Weasley stopped reading his paper. "What a mess..." His children looked to him. "What's up, Dad?" asked Ron. Arthur frowned. "It seems that Dolores Umbridge is healthy. She's working again. And...she's passed some new legislation."

"What, it isn't anything about the centaurs, is it?" Harry voiced his opinion. I could nearly smack him for being so stupid. Remus Lupin choked on his juice across the table. Tonks looked at him, worried. I stared at my plate. Umbridge was a revolting woman, and I'd hated every minute I spent around her. But she had given me a special power over the rest of the students those two years ago. Of course, that hadn't ended well, either. I'd gotten a face full of bat-bogeys from the girl sitting across from me. She seemed intent on doing me in.

"No." said Arthur, quietly. His eyes darted to Lupin, whose back was being rubbed by his lover.

"I understand." Lupin looked to him, a tired sort of smile on his face. Arthur put down his paper, the headline reading:

_**Senior Undersecretary to the Minister Dolores Umbridge Passes New Werewolf Legislature**_

"'All werewolves, their spouses, and children must report to the Ministry to receive their new papers. Letters will be sent to all registered part-humans explaining the new law and how it will greatly improve their condition of living.'" Arthur read. Lupin chuckled humorlessly.

"She's trying to round us all up and send us off to Jupiter." he murmured. He looked to Tonks, whose face turned resolute.

"No, Remus. I'm not changing my mind." she said firmly, staring back at him. He sighed and pulled her from the room where they could talk.

"That's awful.." Hermione Granger, the central advocate for rights for all non/part-humans, said. I kept my mouth shut. It would only get me sent back up into my bedroom, locked and alone. Potter stabbed his bacon moodily. I could just imagine a caption to put over his head.

_Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, throws a temper tantrum from lack of wit. "It's all my fault, I have to fight the Dark Lord all alone and can't help anyone else, I'm all alone, boo-hoo!" says the troubled, mildly retarded boy_.

The idea made me grin. Luckily, no one noticed it.

The rest of breakfast was finished in silence, which was fine with me. I could almost feel that horrible eye of Moody's examining me through the entire meal. I even shivered once. It creeped me out.

I left the table with a full stomach and a buzzing mind. I was finally free, yet there was absolutely nothing to do. I could go wandering around like I used to, before they came and locked me up, but what was the point? I'd seen the rooms already. There was no house-elf to torture. I used to make him run around for me when I was small and visiting my aunts and uncles.

A hand stopped me once I was out of the kitchen. Moody had his twisted, mangled hand on my shoulder.

"Mind if we talk, boy?" he asked quietly. My breath caught in my chest. This could not be good. He steered me into the empty dining room. His eye swiveled up and down my figure. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. Was he about to decide I was too much of a burden? That I was too unreliable, that I could be a spy?

"You seem to know more than you let on, boy." he growled. I stood stock-still, terror creeping up my insides. Of course, it could have just been the roaming eye making me feel cold, but you can easily chalk it up to fright. The man scares the crap out of me.

"You say you can decipher codes?" I blinked. As a Death Eater's child, of course I knew how to interpret the various messages being sent back and forth.

"Yeah, so what?" I snarled. Defense mechanism number one, cold words and nasty attitude.

"Insolent little brat." His normal eye stared at me coldly.

"What do you want with me, then?" I stared just as coldly back, trying to hide the fear building up behind the mask.

"I want you to do whatever I tell you to do, got that?" Merlin, just what was this guy asking? Was I supposed to get on all fours and slobber all over his shoes? Test his drinks for poison? Or just let him do what he wants with me? I shuddered at the last thought-the idea of Moody having his way with me was _not_ pleasant.

"And what do I get?" He looked me over once more as if pondering a suitable payment, or a suitable insult to throw at me for the ridiculous comment.

"Your wand." That was the second shock to my system that day. They were just going to hand me my wand back, if I deciphered codes?

"Deal." I answered immediately. A knowing, smug, humorless smile spread across his jagged face as Moody stumped his way towards me. He pulled out my wand from inside his cloak and stuffed it into my hand. I watched him as he left. Only once he was completely gone did I look to the wand.

There were all the scratches, all the chips, in the right places. I turned it over, smiling. I could feel the magic spreading from my fingertips to my bloodstream, eventually bringing it to my heart and out into the rest of my body. I felt healthier, stronger, smarter. I gave it a small, careless wave. Silver sparks shot out of its end, happy to have its master back. My smile grew into a grin. I knew where to go now.

That is how you found me. Ready and willing to trade my soul for my wand, my heart for my power.

XX

"_Corpus Reparo_."

I had the wand pointed at my wrists. My hands shook violently and I was afraid the spell would miss, yet it didn't. I watched as the blood seeped back up my arm and was soaked into my skin. The skin pulled itself back together, leaving no mark of my violence. I left my chest alone; those could easily be hidden and, besides, they just felt too good to get rid of.

It was nice to shed blood. Made you raring to go for the rest of the day. Boundless energy, you know? Unfortunately, half of the day had already gone by. Moody had somehow gotten his way up the stairs. I was in my room, getting re-acquainted with my wand, and he'd burst in with a small stack of papers. It took me four hours to decipher them all. When I finished, sweaty and ink stains covering my fingers, I thought I should get a job being an auror, decrypting codes. Then maybe I'd have his job.

Moody had come back and taken the papers with a small grimace. Then I took a shower, unlocked the door, and headed upstairs.

I lay back against the dust-filled cushions of my sanctuary. It was nice to come back. Up here it was stiflingly hot, a drastic change to the Cooling Charms in every other room in the house. I wasn't really partial to heat but I could make an exception in this case.

The plush cushions against my bare flesh were extremely comfortable. The heat and smell coupled with them gave the room a rather Trelawney-like atmosphere. Who knows? Maybe the old bat was right to make up her classroom like that; stuffy and comfortable and full of incense. I certainly felt beyond my physical self at the moment.

I held up my left arm, flexing. The muscles tightened; the veins pulsed; the tendons bulged. It would be hard to believe that just a few moments ago those veins were split, their contents spilling forth. Those muscles were sliced, their nerves shaking uselessly without any control. The tendons were slashed, movement impaired with deadly force. Magic truly was wonderful, wasn't it?

The wounds on my chest were beginning to heal and became a little itchy. With a small amount of regret I pulled my shirt back over my head, unwilling to cover my back once more, and lay back down. The sun streamed through the window. The window was tiny, a tiny window in a tiny house, and it just covered my face. It was very relaxing. The idea of being caught in here melted away as I closed my eyes and sought a good nap.

Unfortunately, as ready as my eyes were to sleep, my brain wasn't. The codes from earlier buzzed about in my mind like flies and mosquitoes. I was tired, too tired to think about any of that crap. Then, like every other time I tried to sleep, unbidden thoughts filled my head.

I remembered the letter mother sent me when father was arrested. I had stared in shock at the words, unwilling to believe them. That was one of my worst nights. My drug was suddenly taken away, and I needed it more than anything at the moment. I had withdrawn to the Room of Requirement, where I had known Potter and his friends were hiding out earlier, and cried. That was perhaps the beginning of the bad times for me. Sixth year I was crying to Moaning Myrtle, who was already dead and therefore would pity me almost unconditionally, at least once a week.

I remembered the look on Potter's face as he cursed me when he found me in the bathroom with her. That bastard, who the hell was he to intrude? Just how long was he watching me? Severus told me he had suspected me from the very beginning, though nobody believed him. I grew panicked and tried to make the attempts more discreet, so they couldn't be tracked back to me easily.

Nevertheless, I was extremely surprised that he even knew that curse. It was dark magic, darker than I'd thought he'd know. The way he waved his wand about told me he hadn't a clue what he was doing, which was scary with a curse like that. So of course I'd gotten all sliced up. I still have the scar today, right between two ribs on my right side. Curses did not heal as easily as man-made cuts.

I remembered the look on Dumbledore's face as he faced Severus. That trusting, pleading look in his eyes was enough to make me back down, but not Severus. I later learned that the old codger had known of his fate. I could never imagine someone facing his death to act so calmly, to just be waiting for it. The twinkle never left his eye until the very end. Then it faded, cast over by the calm fog of death, and he plummeted to the ground, the trust going along with it. After we had escaped, I ran from the others and threw up. It was the first time I'd seen death.

Then I remembered Severus, how calm he seemed to be. He was in charge once all of us had retreated, our job done. This was the first time he was a convict, as all those years before he'd had the protection from Dumbledore. Now he'd killed his protector, he was no longer free. He had taken me back to my home, and only there did I see any effect on him. He was slightly shaky and his eyes roved madly in his head. Although he said he was on the side of the Dark Lord, how had he felt to kill the man that had saved his skin for nearly two decades? He hurried along, and made sure my mother and I were safe. It was Dumbledore's order. He'd known everything, all along.

I lay there on the cushions, and I thought, are these where Dementors were born? The lull between wakefulness and sleep? Did some man, thousands of years past, dream of this creature at the same time I was? Because to me, that's when Dementors are no longer far away. Then they are in your head, feasting on your good memories and destroying the barriers your mind places to protect you from reliving the bad. That's what happens in this middle, and there was no escaping it.

So I clenched my eyes shut and tried to sleep once more.

XXX

"Can't even bloody sleep around here..." I sat up, extremely cross. I could hear someone walking around in the hallway. The old walls were incredibly thin, and the size of the place-barely wide enough to house a single corridor of rooms, slightly larger than the extravagant Weasley Manor-didn't help the muffle the noise. My eyes fell upon the clock on the bedside table, and I swore.

"Three o'clock in the fucking morning..!" I rubbed my temples. Now I was awake-it didn't take much in the middle of the night to wake me up-and not too happy to be so. I flopped down onto my stomach, staring into the open bathroom. My hands found the cuts and marks around my ribs, some still just barely starting to heal from earlier.

After my small nap earlier I'd gone back up to my room. There was another stack of code on my side table. In a way I was relieved to suddenly have something meaningful to do. It took a lot of monotony out of the day.

Now whoever it was knocked on a door a few steps down the hall. There was a muffled, sliding noise coming from my door, and a sigh.

"You know I can't, Ginny." Potter's voice was kind and soft. I groaned. It was a little early for another one of these bouts? Weasley had been pining over him since she arrived, and I'd been the unfortunate one to see her sulking while she watched me. I would tell them both to bugger off and sleep if I really wanted to get up and move around.

"I don't care, Harry! I see you watching me with that look in your eyes! Why don't you make up your mind already?!" A small hiss came from her lips, her voice a little louder than his, coming directly from the other side of the door. I knew that hiss; it usually came right before she threw something at me.

"I already have, Gin. Goodnight." The door shut. Ginny slid down the door. All right, enough was enough. I was sick and tired of this damn soap opera, and I was going to tell her so. I got up and stumbled my way towards her wearily. Another door opened just before I could knock and scare the crap out of her.

"Wuzzgoinon?" Tonks, apparently freshly woken, had opened her door. Before I knew what was happening, Ginny rushed into the room, not looking behind her as she hurried. She knocked into me, sending us both toppling onto the floor.

"I'm so sorry-!" I lay, staring at her, bewildered. My arms bent at 90 degree angles, hands somewhere over my head. Once again I felt the warmth of her body on mine. Her perfume was subtle, worn off from a full day. She blinked her wide brown eyes. Her curly hair fell onto my uncovered shoulders, teasing the bare skin of my chest. Her hands rested on my mutilated ribs to try and soften the blow, yet she flinched anyway.

"What the hell?!" I pushed her off me rather roughly. She rolled onto her stomach, tears glimmering in angry eyes.

"Shut up! Do you _want_ them to come in here?" she hissed. I definitely didn't, so for once I did as she asked. We both lay on the plush carpet so as to not make a single sound. Ginny jumped once more as Tonks closed her door again. I sat up and glared at her. My wand lay on the other side of my bed, so I didn't even try to get it.

"Why the hell are you even awake at this ungodly hour?" She glared back at me, but didn't answer.

"You're practically _begging_ for him to hurt you, you know." I smirked cruelly and put on a high-pitched voice that didn't resemble hers in the least. "'Oh Harry, please take me back, don't bother when the Dark Lord decides to kill me to get to you-'ow!" She kicked me in the shin. I rubbed it, seething. I could still see tears in her eyes as she turned away.

"You cannot be serious." I murmured, deadpan. "You're crying over Harry-_fucking_-Potter."

"It's none of your business!" she raged. Her ears turned bright red.

"You made it my business when you woke me up at 3 o'clock in the morning with your god-damned soap opera." I sneered.

"Just who the hell are you to judge me?" she snarled. Her eyes found my wounded chest quickly. "I see you're keeping yourself busy enough. What, did you sharpen your toothbrush and just stab yourself or something?"

"No, apparently the water here is too pure for my unclean soul and decided to rip me to bits as I took a shower." I retorted dryly. "What the hell do you think happened?" She snorted, half in amusement and half in derision.

"I just see a pathetic worm trying to be a snake." she said quietly, smirking in her small victory. Ouch, that **really** hurt, right here in my nonexistent heart.

"You ever call me pathetic again and you'll look so pathetic when I'm through Potter will jump on a broomstick and never come back." Her smirk turned off like a light.

"How about something else, then? Childish, idiotic, disgusting? Father's precious little boy?"

I don't know what happened to me, I really don't. Something in my head snapped. There was this little piece of him, right there in my mind, and it had roared to life, shattering my control. To be compared to my father in such a way had triggered somewhat of an emotional breakdown.

In an instant my hands were pinning her to the wall by her shoulders. My face was barely a few inches away from hers. I can only imagine what I must have looked like; some half-crazed man with a sliced chest holding her brutally to the wall. No wonder she looked frightened. Our meeting was so unexpected in the first place, so she never imagined to bring her wand with her. The absence of that small piece of wood had rendered her absolutely powerless to the crazed strength of a madman.

"Don't-you-_ever_-say-that." My voice was barely above a whisper, though it was as dangerous as if I'd screamed at the top of my lungs.

"Don't you _ever_ put me with that man in the same breath." She stared at me and I could see a small glimmer of rebellion coming forward behind her fear. It was just strong enough to overcome it briefly.

"If you hate him so much, why did you always call him for help, then?" she asked, face a mask of defiance.

"Because he could!" I pressed onto her with greater force. She winced but didn't look away, a small thing I noted. Perhaps she wasn't the sniveling crybaby I'd seen her as so far, but that didn't necessarily make things easier, either.

"He owed me. He had all this power, and I could use it to my advantage. It's my right! He did this to me!" I ended up nearly yelling. She had me absolutely infuriated with her, myself, and my father. If she and Potter's little squabble out in the hall had woken up others, my voice must have carried all the way to the kitchen.

"Everything is his fault!" Everything _was_ his fault. This had been my mantra since childhood, if you can even call it a childhood. Being raised to hate others because of their lack of magical blood, something which couldn't even be seen. Hadn't I already seen the other students at school? Their powers were no less than mine, yet it was what I believed with every fiber of my being. It was right in front of my face; I preferred instead to look to an invisible reason, a fabricated lie. It was so easy to look to a preset determination that I had lost all power to make any of my own decisions in the matter.

I had known nothing from him beside pain and power. His cruel face once he donned that mask was enough to make me leave the family and all its power behind. I'd seen him at the Cup three years ago. He was taking so much pleasure in burning and cursing that he nearly got me caught up in it. He'd asked me if I wanted to participate, a strange gleam in his eyes I'd never seen before. But I'd said no. I had been scared, too scared to admit that I just couldn't go with him.

So I ran. And I'm still running.

I felt a strong sting on my cheek. It brought me back from my mind, led the retreat from my memories. She'd slapped me right across the face. Before I could do anything about it, she admonished me.

"You're such a coward!" she hissed, eyes boring dangerously into mine. I was dumbstruck by her actions. What the hell..?

"Blaming someone else for your actions! So what if he was the one to put all those stupid ideas into your head? You're so weak! Instead of fighting it you gave in, and now you're blaming him! You should blame your fucking self for doing that!"

Nobody had ever talked to me that way. Father had only come close to her. I never realized anyone could possibly point these things out to me...because she was right. I didn't want to believe it, but she was right.

But she didn't know the whole story! I _did_ fight..I really tried to fight him, but _she'd_ never fought anyone like that...

But she had, hadn't she?

She'd fought _him_.

My father was a kitten compared to the Dark Lord, and she'd fought him. When he controlled her mind, she'd fought him.

But she was never able to overpower him. She did those things, under his control.

"Do you blame yourself?" My voice had grown quiet once more, but this time it was submissive rather than dominant. I stared back at her, head slightly lowered as I looked up into her eyes. The question shocked her. I knew that she knew what I was talking about.

"I.."

"That's the same medicine, isn't it? It's hard to take once you've given it, isn't it, Ginny?" I asked. She remained quiet. I could almost hear her, struggling with her demons.

"We aren't so different after all..you and I." I thought that would make her angry, and I was silenced for a moment by my own observation.

Were we really different? Her, a poor girl trying to overcome the evil in the world; I, a rich boy living according to his father, who was on the side of evil? My father told me that yes, that difference was what made the world go round. I told myself no. Now I could use my own two eyes and tell for myself. So I decided not to just shove her away, the one person that seemed to know just what was happening to me. After all..who else did I have here?

I leaned forwards and rested my forehead on her shoulder, letting go of them as I did. She sat, crying silently. The top of her head found the crook of my neck. We supported eachother.

We understood each other.

XXXX

So, what'd you think? To tell you the truth, I wrote the last scene first, the first scene after that, and the middle scene last. I've never done that before! But then I realized I really liked how the Draco and Ginny scene ended, so I put it at the end.

Review!


	7. False Identities

I'm back! I bet some of you were worried I was gone, but never fear, I am here! I took a little time off. The release of the 7th book kinda brought down some of my enthusiasm. Lucius IS a good father! Just not in this story, tee-hee.

Last chapter, if anyone might have kept track, was a memoir to all those who died in the last battle, except for Dobby, 'cause I kinda forgot about him. XX He's got a big part in the next chapter, so don't worry Dobby fans!

And now, onto the story!

X

I scratched my chin with my quill, scowling down at the words that seemed to escape meaning. It was around eight o'clock and the sunlight was gradually fading outside my window.

"Is the great code-breaker Draco Malfoy stuck?" She was seated on my great-aunt's favorite chair-she'd used her brother's wand to float it up the stairs and place it in my room-curled up with a book and smirking lightly up at me. Ever since our little understanding three days ago she's been with me, just passing the time under her mother's orders.

"Not nearly as stuck as you are with that book." The book was an ancient, decrepit old thing she'd found in a cabinet somewhere. She had no idea what the title meant; nobody could tell us. It was in French. Ugh. French. The language of snotty noses and closed throats. It was such a slimy tongue that I could never bear to learn "the language of love", even though my mother tried to teach me.

Ginny mock-scowled and returned to her page, muttering the incantation that helped her understand the strange words.

"What the hell is that book about, anyways?" I asked. I was trying to take a break from the constant stream of information I seemed to be receiving. It was beginning to give me a headache that just wouldn't go away.

"It's nonfiction, I think...I think it's about some uprising in France because the wizarding population decided to take over. It's rather gruesome." she said, squinting at the page.

A smart rap came on the door. Ginny poked her head up once more, a little irritated at the constant sidetracks from her book.

"What?" I called. I quickly set the papers down on the bed and pointed my wand at the door. I'd taken to locking it, since I didn't necessarily want Potty and the Weasel coming in whenever they felt like it. Ginny's mother bustled in, wand keeping a few papers afloat in front of her. A large parcel wrapped in brown paper was tucked under her arm.

"Package for you." she said hastily, setting it and the papers down on my desk. She wiped her sweaty forehead anxiously

"It's another from your mother. Don't worry, we didn't open it this time." Surely enough I could see my mother's scrawl on the front; its surface was unmarked. She bustled out of the room, muttering something about dinner. I slid off the bed to take the package. Ginny moved over to my bed and watched me rip the letter off over my shoulder.

_Hebi-kun,_

_I'm doing fine, love. I hope I can see you soon! Shibou-san tells me you're getting better at puzzle solving, so I've sent you some sudoku puzzles, they're all the rage. Are you ready for the festival? We've sent you some presents, hope you like them. Do try to like them, dear, they're all we could afford._

_Do well with your heart, son._

_Love, Hana-san._

"Hebi? Shibou? Hana? Let me guess, I know where they are." Ginny smirked. I just chuckled.

"Mother, you're brutal." I murmured. "Brutal?" She frowned. I smirked back at her and kept the secret to myself. She had called Severus 'Honorable Grease'. I tore the paper off of the package and stared at its contents.

A small wooden box sat on top of what looked like books and fabric. Curious, I opened the box. It held a number of small bottles, each filled with a different colored liquid. A piece of parchment wrapped around them. I read it.

_This is your protection. The bottles are bewitched to fill from my stores, I assure you that they will not empty. Drink them, a drop of each in a cup of water._ This was Severus' writing. Then, under it, my mother had written her own piece for me.

_I am sorry, my son, this is the only way they would let you go back._

I grew suspicious as I eyed the bottles once more. Just what would happen? Would I sprout spikes, warding away harm? Would a shield form around my skin?

"Any idea what this stuff does?" asked Ginny as she examined one of the bottles. I shrugged and fetched a glass of water. She took a bit from each and dropped them into the water. It turned a murky grey.

"Bottoms up." she said, a small hint of uneasiness showing under her cheerful face.

I'd had polyjuice potion before, and the feeling this potion gave me was nearly identical. My skin became hot wax. My scalp was aflame, and I suddenly felt like a piece of hot iron being pounded into shape. My skin quickly molded itself into a different form, and my hair shrunk back into the top of my head.

Ginny was staring at me, blinking furiously as her eyes roved over my new frame.

"What? Am I as bad as Crabbe or something?" I turned my head and glanced at myself. I jumped.

My perfect hair was a raven-black mess. It was slightly shorter and stuck out at odd angles, but I will always say it looks good. My eyes, thank Merlin, were the same size and color. My face was no longer angular and pale but more round and my skin was darker, more healthier-looking. And on my face...

"Merlin I'll kill him! I've got _dimples_!" I rubbed the corners of my mouth where tiny laugh lines had set in. I scowled and looked more. My nose was slightly upturned, a mirror of my mother's. Ginny laughed at my outburst, holding up what looked like my school robes.

She turned it around so I could see its front.

No.

No.

NO.

FUCK NO.

The patch on the chest was not the one I loved, the silver serpent on a green background.

A rearing lion took its place.

"A Gryffindor?!" I nearly screamed. Ginny fell over onto her side and laughed, hard. I grabbed the robe and threw it to the other side of the bed. So this is why my mother was apologizing. I wasn't ugly, certainly not, but I was a Gryffindor. Seething with rage, I turned back to the package to try and erase it from my mind.

Under where the robes had been were a small pile of books, the ones I would need for my last year. A small bundle of quills and ink were wrapped with a piece of parchment, along with a new wand.

"Apollo Canton." I read, scowling. My first name was now that of the Greek Sun God. How...ironic. That the dark one's name would mean light. They were probably having a laugh about it. Thanks, mum.

Below my alias were the specifications of my wand. Ash, twelve inches, mermaid scale. Must be one from Gregorovitch-Ollivander's gone, and he never used scales.

"Ginny!" Her mother called up the stairs, abruptly ending her time watching me. She glanced at me again, a smirk on her face, and scampered off to join her mother.

I, in the meantime, sat, cursing my fate. I rubbed my strange face and felt like screaming. I had now become the very thing I have detested since birth. I was helping people who fought against people like me, and now I looked like one. I might as well start dressing all in white and enchant a halo to hover above my head. Now, that would make you people laugh, wouldn't it? Or Draco Malfoy going to church like a good little boy?

Now that you mention it, I have been to church. Once.

I remember it vividly, even though it was ten years ago. My parents dressed me in finery early on a Sunday morning. I was curious, wondering just what we were doing. My father looked very annoyed at going, and my mother didn't look too happy either. Before leaving, my father turned to me and said, "Draco, you are not to listen to the old man's words. They are irrelevant and inconsequential. Remember. We are not going to worship. We are going to study those that we must eradicate."

We went for appearance's sake. It was the chance to prove that the Malfoy family were good Christians, who would never, ever do something evil knowingly. How dark we would look, forsaking the church. It would arouse suspicion. Suspicion we didn't need.

As we stepped through the heavy doors of the church I saw my father stiffen, but briefly. You see, there are no wizarding churches. Witches and wizards assimilate into the muggle culture, as they always have, for religious purposes. I have never understood why. There are so many things in their Bible that are explained by magic, as my parents told me later on. How their savior was just a wizard who liked to show off, that sort of thing.

You could always pick out the wizards. They would be huddled by themselves, dressed haphazardly in generally mismatching and horrible clothing. We knew better, and even at eight I knew better.

I saw the look in my father's eye as he surveyed the insides of the church. Years later the church burned right down to the ground during Sunday mass. The locals who tried to put it out only found the flames to grow higher. It was my father's desire. He truly and sincerely hated the occupants, the ignorant savages who prayed to their savage god. He gazed around at them all, picturing their demise. There were no survivors.

They gave us strange looks. The people knew who we were, naturally. Our house was the largest in a 50 mile radius. They thought, however, that my father was some rich hotel-chain owner. If they knew where that money really came from, they'd have burned us at the stake. Strange how muggles always try to burn magic away, as if it were some infectious disease.

Mother ushered me into a seat. I sat between her and Father, and found that all I could do was look around.

To this day I have never seen a colder place.

How many of you could actually believe that? That I, Draco Malfoy, who lives in a pit of snakes and silver, turning away from the light, could have seen a worse place than the one I inhabit?

Then obviously, you have never truly seen a church.

The place was a white marble tomb. The sounds of mindless chatter rebounded from their cold walls, giving the place a hollow, haunted feel. I peered at the vaulted ceilings, carved ornately by artisans long gone to their God. The dead gazes of saints painted on the smooth surfaces were glazed with no hope or faith left in their glassy disks. I stared blankly at the forgotten souls, wondering if their plights had been rewarded. Were they with their God, or had they merely run uphill to smell a bucket of manure?

There were children around my age dressed in white suits and dresses, swinging around small necklaces of beads with crosses on their ends. I frowned, looking at my own black outfit. What was I doing wrong?

I heard my father curse under his breath as he watched them, running and playing and smacking each other with their beads.

"We just had to come for their communion." he hissed, turning his head to see his wife's expression. Mother's lips were tight and white.

"Draco shouldn't be seeing this." he continued, glancing down at me. Then he fell silent as mass began.

I watched the old priest walk onto the altar with curiosity. He was deemed a holy man, but why did he look so normal? He wore robes, like our kind, but he was most certainly a muggle. When he spoke it was like trying to listen to Professor Binns. Up until I met the ghost, this had been the most boring experience of my life.

I could see the other children were bored, too, yet they were too excited to let it stifle their enthusiasm. He prattled on about taking in God. My father nearly laughed at one point, but thankfully he was able to restrain himself. He was speaking nonsense, as far as we were concerned.

Maybe about an hour in, the children formed two lines. They walked, solemn as seven year olds can be, towards two old ladies with brass plates.

"Body of Christ, amen." they recited, taking a small disk into their mouths and eating them. I watched, fascinated.

"Are muggles cannibals?" I whispered to my father, grinning. The corner of his lip twitched.

"No, my son, it is only a metaphor." he replied. I sat back, a little disappointed. The children walked back to their places, knowing they were done.

I returned from my flashback, feeling blank.

I know better now. I still believe that place was a tomb; it was where doubt was buried, where second-guessing had been brutally murdered. The church was a place of obedience and blind faith, not for someone as distrusting as I am. The people were balls of clay, being constantly molded and changed by what their religion wanted them to believe until they had no views of their own.

I lay on my back, images of burning seraphim and marble tombs haunting my daydreams.

XX

"Draco?" A knock came on my door. I put down the new Potions book-might as well read them while I was in this hellhole-and looked to it. Ginny opened it, enough to poke her head in.

"They want to talk to you." she said, breathless. She had obviously been commanded to fetch me quickly. I knew who They were.

The Order.

Why they wanted to talk to me was a mystery, but I slid off the bed anyways.

"What are they talking about?" I asked her casually, as if I were called down every day.

"The attack, what else?" She rolled her eyes at my lack of thought. We stepped down the stairs together. Her eyes flicked to my appearance constantly, still changed from earlier. I didn't reply.

The kitchen door was flung wide open. I could clearly see the entire household huddled around the table from the stairs. They clutched glasses of wine and firewhisky and pored over the few maps we had of Hogsmeade.

Ginny walked in at my side. The gathering stopped their chatter to stare at me with utmost curiosity.

"Blimey!" said the youngest Weasley male, goggling at my new appearance. I wrinkled my nose, wishing desperately he'd stop staring.

"He did a good job, then," Moody growled from the corner of the table, that awful eye of his whizzing up and down my body. It was like some grotesque peep-show. "Slughorn's always been well known for his appearance-changing potions."

My head turned sharply to look at Ginny. She was calm, innocent. Almost as if she hadn't told the one lie that could possibly save Severus' life from these people.

She's good, I thought with some amusement.

"What do you want, then?" I asked. My new voice was light, almost musical. I didn't sound nearly as sarcastic as I'd hoped. It irritated me.

"The attack is two weeks from today," That's right. It was August 2nd. "We want to go over the plan with _everyone_." Kingsley Shacklebolt pronounced the last word as to mean I was somehow included. How touching.

I took a seat nonetheless. Mr. Weasley pinched the bridge of his nose, face quite red, and set off on the schedule.

"We arrive at two. We, being Kingsley, Remus, Tonks, Alastor, Fred, George, Bill, Molly, and myself. The rest will remain here and receive information." The Golden Trio looked sullen; obviously they had been notified of this beforehand.

My reaction was somewhat similar to Ginny's.

"What?!" she screamed. She jumped to her feet and slammed her palm down on the table.

"Ginny, we absolutely cannot let you go into a battle!" Molly yelled back, eyes livid. I seethed quietly, letting Ginny argue for me.

"Why not?! **I've** faced him before! I know him better than any of you!" She faced her mother boldly, hair like her fiery temper.

Not let me go? I think not, we both seemed to say. I glared at the congregation; she admonished it. I was not about to let them tell me what to do. I could apparate; they couldn't keep me there. Plus, there was no one to watch us, right? So what was the problem?

These were my friends going into battle, fighting, killing and being killed. I could not watch idly while both of my sides were in danger, even if I couldn't pick which one to stand with.

"And you _lost_, Gin. That can't happen again." Potter spoke up quietly over his firewhisky, to the nods of the adults. She glared at him darkly and sat down, silently fuming.

"Go on." I murmured. She shot me a dirty look. Mr. Weasley looked uncomfortable.

"They will arrive an hour later..." The conversation drifted over the various aspects of time and strategy. We stumbled out three hours later, heads light from copious glasses of wine and endless discussion. Ginny stamped up the stairs, still mad after all this time, and marched into my room before I even got up the stairs. I sighed. She was going to have another meltdown on me, I could sense it in the air.

I closed the door behind me and she turned to me.

"We're going." she said quietly, voice soft with danger as she stared directly into my eyes.

"Now you're talking my language. Have you got a plan?" I smirked lightly. Neither of us would take this lying down.

"Not much. Have you?" I paused, then grinned.

"Of course."

That's how you found me. Emotions boiling over, ready to burst, thinking up any plan to get myself in the midst of the danger.

Angry; excited; the battle stirring in my blood.

XXX

Okay, I know the chapter was shorter than the previous ones, but I was just setting up for the battle, which will be next chapter! Remember, the more reviews I get, the longer the next chapter is!


	8. Autumn Air

Hey all! I know it's been a while. You can say my inspiration kinda..died. Draco, my lovely little muse, decided to take a holiday. But I hope you like this chapter, please review!

X

"Draco."

I nearly shot out of my bed. Alarmed, I turned to my side.

"What in bloody-! Oh."

Her big brown eyes were staring down at me, alert and focused. She was kneeling next to my bed, already dressed in black. Her hair, so easily seen and recognized, was streaming over her hood. Her pale skin seemed to shine in the darkness of my bedroom.

"It's five already?" I had barely time to nap the previous night. She nodded stiffly and jerked her head to the pile of clothes at the edge of my bed.

The two weeks after the meeting had passed rapidly. The little time we could be by ourselves were spent conspiring and rethinking our plans in my bedroom, under the pretense that she was still watching for any self-mutilation. The whole house had been chaotic; last minute details had been ironed out just a few hours before they left. Nobody noticed us. Our plan was simple, effective.

"Quick, we haven't got much time. They left three minutes ago. The charm takes eight." She looked quite anxious, checking her watch every second or so.

"Oh, shut up, I know how long the damn charm takes." I snapped. I didn't like to be woken up at any time of the night, especially after two hours of sleep. She let out an aggravated sigh and kept her eyes locked on her wristwatch until I finished changing.

"Two minutes and thirty-two seconds." she warned as I downed my potion. I cringed at the awful creeping feeling on my body as we started out the door.

"Ginny!" My heart froze in my chest. I turned to see the Golden Trio standing in the hallway, dressed in black and carrying their wands.

"You can't go without us." Hermione whispered resolutely as she saw the look on my face.

"Yes, we can. Come on." This was our plan, ours alone. They hadn't come up with any brilliant tactics or ingenious escaping tricks. I turned to the stairs. Ginny stood, torn.

"We're coming." Harry added defiantly. Ginny glared and turned her back on them. She hurried behind me down the stairs. The three came thundering after us loudly.

Too loudly.

My great-aunt woke up with a vengeance.

"SHAME! FILTHY BLEEDING HEARTS, CAN'T SAVE THEM NOW, NO! THE DARK LORD WILL HAVE YOU ALL-!"

Ginny, Granger, and Weasley stopped dead in their tracks at the sudden shrieking. We were found, but we weren't too late to escape.

"Just keep going!" Potter shouted, all intent of secrecy now dissolved as he and I continued to run for the door. I pulled Ginny along with me and threw open the doors.

"But Harry, you can't apparate yet!" Hermione cried, suddenly spotting the flaw in their scheme. "And we don't know where-" I didn't get to hear the rest, nor did I care. I grabbed Ginny roughly by the waist and spun her into the air as I turned on my heel.

My chest was compacted under the sudden, intense change in gravity. I felt as if time and space were struggling against my attempts to break their laws, but held firm.

The earth reappeared under our feet. Ginny gasped and clutched at her sides. I checked where her fingers dug into her clothes, alarmed.

"I'm okay, it's just so _weird_..." she panted. Her eyes scanned the area, making sure we were in the right spot.

The large, run-down shack was eerie in dawn's first light. We were outside it, near the fence barring its entrance, ankle-deep in leaves. The trees around us were ripe with autumn. The sky was banded with pink and orange. It was a breathtaking sight.

"It's beautiful." She turned her head to stare out at the horizon, all danger forgotten in the few moments of calm. As loathe as we were to fall behind, neither of us could resist taking in the sight. She watched the sunrise; I watched her.

I saw the rosy hues reflected in her eyes. Her orange curls glinted brightly under her hood. Her skin was aglow, shadows cast from the trees falling across her face gracefully. I vaguely remembered that my arms wrapped her to me tightly. I saw her breath steam in the cold air as her chest heaved in a large intake of air.

"Come on." I let her go and stepped back quickly, disgruntled with my own peculiar behavior. "The ambush is in ten minutes; obviously we made it before they finished the charm." She turned back to me and nodded, her cheeks rosy from the brisk air.

We kept to the dwindling shadows, wands held at the ready in case someone were to discover us sneaking about. We paused in front of Honeydukes. The town had been evacuated an hour previously. It was oddly empty, which set off a tension in the air as Ginny slid the door open for us to slip inside.

What once littered the shelves were gone. All of the candy, the various delectables and odd sweets, had simply vanished, along with the proprietors. If I were them, I wouldn't leave all of their products for someone to destroy, either.

Ginny slipped her hood off, breathing heavily as she glanced through the window. "They'll be here in half an hour." she said quietly. I sat on one of the empty shelves and rested my head in my hands. "They're all in the shop, right?" She nodded. The ambush group was in Fred and George's shop. It was risky-it was the most obvious place for them to be, and the first place they would look-but they had all of their items at their disposal. Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Decoy Detonators, fake wands-that's enough to keep any enemy distracted.

My fingers wound themselves in my hair as I readied myself for the long wait. She sighed and sat on the far side of my shelf, anxiously checking her watch.

"It isn't going to go by any faster with you looking at that thing every three seconds." My voice was dry. She sighed again, impatiently. She never seemed one for patience.

CRASH!

I jumped to my feet. The horrendous noise seemed to come, not from the street, but from below. There was silence as Ginny hurried to my side. We held our wands out as muffled footsteps seemed to come from the basement. Ginny nudged me and pointed to the corner of the room, where the floor was a little less trodden-on. We crept over, wary. Another clunk reached our ears.

The trapdoor, cleverly hidden, creaked open slowly. I thrust my wand at the intruder-

"Dead, Potter."

My wand was pointed between his eyes. Even in the current situation I couldn't help but smirk. If I had been a Death Eater, like I was supposed to be, he would have never lived to see another glory-filled day.

He snarled and shoved me out of the way as he climbed out, followed by Weasley and Granger. He dusted himself off; the other two had their hands tightly clasped on each other's. As soon as Potter opened his mouth to speak, an ear-splitting screech rang out. It seemed to be coming from all around us.

"You god-damned idiots! You've gotten us all caught!" I cried with fury. They would be on us any second now. This was their alarm. I grabbed Ginny once more and apparated, as far as I could from them.

I let go of Ginny as soon as we reached the edge of the lake. Tears of anger were in her eyes as she glared in the direction of Hogsmeade. We were past the tiny houses that dotted its outskirts, and could barely even see their roofs.

"Think they got caught?" she asked quietly. I hesitated, then said, "Probably, unless they somehow managed to become quick-witted overnight." She rolled her eyes with a small smile. She knew it was true-even if she was only counting her clumsy brother.

A bang erupted from the village, sending showers of sparks into the air. Two were green, the sign that everything was all right. They were right next to each other; they must have been to signal that the three had been found.

A fiery red alarm went up farther out.

The battle had begun.

Paling, Ginny turned to me. "We have to get over there, no matter what they say!" she cried, fear for her family in her eyes as she pleaded with me. She later told me I had the same look in my eyes; my aunts and uncles, unbloodied brothers and sisters, were all in the fray. I whisked us off to Scrivenshaft's, which was almost right next to the joke shop.

There were five people in robes, blasting everything around them and screaming at the top of their lungs. I froze, as did Ginny.

We were expecting twenty.

Thankfully, my appearance stopped them from noticing us too quickly. I wasn't Draco Malfoy anymore; I was Apollo Canton, the seventh-year Gryffindor at Hogwarts, the friend of Ginny that had come to stay for the summer.

Even with this false identity, I couldn't bring myself to curse any of them.

I recognized eyes behind the masks. Avery; Nott; Goyle; Rowle; Lestrange. They had given me presents for my birthdays, had come over to the manor for dinner and parties. Rodolphus was my uncle. I just couldn't, even if they were out for my blood.

They saw Ginny before they saw me. She had no hesitation in Stunning Goyle, who had turned his back on the members of the Order at our arrival.

"He's not here!" Nott screamed above the noise, eyes sweeping about as he deflected a curse from Lupin. He apparated, followed quickly by my uncle Rodolphus.

Avery lunged under a red jet of light, eyes gleeful in triumph as he pointed his wand at Ginny, determined to cause the most mayhem he could. I suddenly found myself able to move again. He definitely wasn't a friend of the family anymore.

_Crucio._

I thought the spell, viciously flicking my wand at Avery. The triumphant gleam in his eye vanished abruptly as he writhed in pain. I had practice with the curse, and I had no qualms about using it. He was stunned quickly by Tonks.

Moody clamped his hands on the unconscious Death Eaters, turning on his wooden leg and apparating back to the Ministry. The rest of them turned to us. Her mother and father were absolutely furious.

"All of you! I can't believe-you actually-!" Molly sputtered in rage.

"I just got one of them." she explained calmly, much calmer than I could have been.

"You could have been killed!" The golden trio stood behind them, wands still in their hands. They had been caught, but as soon as they were about to be chastised the fighting had broken out.

"There were only five of them." I said quietly, meaning something entirely different. "It was a diversion." Tonks sighed wearily, leaning against Lupin for support.

"Who did I stun?" Ginny asked me under her breath. "Goyle's father." I murmured. She looked fiercely proud of it.

"What did they want? They said 'He's not here.'" Potter spoke up, looking at me. "What do you think, Potter?" I spat. Of course.

They were looking for me. I hated to realize it, that they truly did want me dead. After all, I was a deserter; my whole family was disgraced and on the chopping block.

"Who Crucio'd Avery?" Ginny's father was carefully avoiding my eyes.

"Mad-Eye might have.." Tonks' voice trailed off, once she knew it was futile to deceive herself any longer. Potter was staring openly at me.

"What if I did?" I snarled, fist clenched around my wand. It was hard for me to come to grips with it. I still remember the toy broomstick he gave me for my third birthday; even as I glared at Potter, I thought of it, rotting away in the cellar after much usage.

"If we're done here..?" I glanced at Ginny. She was the only one not staring at me; she didn't seem to care if I had just made a man I'd known since birth writhe in pain. I turned on my heel and, trying to shut out their faces, returned to the Black House.

That's how you found me. On the opposite side, never truly devoted to either, and unable to decide.

XX

So, what did you think? I love that apparating scene, from the leaving to the arriving. Love it? Hate it? Go ahead, spill.


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